The Newspaperman and Mrs Bates
by rubirosas
Summary: Sir Richard Carlisle needs a new secretary and as it happens, Mrs. Vera Bates is looking to move up in the world. Who said anything about burned bridges?


_**I used to dream I'd meet a prince**_

_**but God almighty have you seen what's happened since?**_

* * *

She sat on a wooden bench in a richly furnished corridor, dark wood paneling and ornate wainscoting emphasising the greatness of the man whose office was down the hall. There was nothing special about her, not at first glance: a plain face just a smidge too wide, clear gray eyes just a bit too cold, and her smile could not be called attractive so much as it was _mocking, insinuating_, or as one former suitor from her youth had called it, _conniving_. It was her smile, in the midst of a line of perhaps ten other women, all looking bored or impatient, which set her apart.

When finally it was her turn, she was shown in—first to the outer office, where the head secretary's desk was. The woman herself, a Miss Fields, opened the door to the inner office and Vera Bates stepped inside. The heavy door shut behind her just as the man behind the great mahogany desk looked up from a stack of papers.

Sir Richard Carlisle looked as she'd never seen him before: _quite shocked_. Before he could start in on her, either to yell at her for having the nerve to show her face here or to simply throw her out, Vera used his surprise to her advantage. "I have something you'll quite want."

Then, just as quickly as it had come, his surprise was gone and Carlisle's brows arched with what could either be rebuke or contempt. "I don't trade favors for employment, Mrs. Bates," he rasped, "And I'm certain you have nothing I want."

"I've boldness and determination," she said, nonplussed and holding her chin high. "I'll give you more effort for your money than any of the slack-jawed girls outside your door."

"You crossed me once, Mrs. Bates," Carlisle reminded her. "And I make it a point to never deal with anyone who's previously caused me grief."

"Grief?" Vera let out an unladylike snort. "I doubt you were _grieved _by my outburst, Sir. I admit it was regrettable of me—I can be—quite passionate—as I understand you yourself are prone to act from time to time." A cunning smirk crossed her lips and she noticed when it did, the newspaper baron leaned forward slightly with what she was sure must be interest. "And if I may remind you, it was you that tricked _me_." Her brows went up in an impertinent fashion. "As I understand it, your obligation to the Crawley family no longer stands."

Carlisle flinched, though it was nearly imperceptible. Vera, however, did not miss the way his broad chest tensed, muscles taut beneath his jacket and collared shirt. She could see the ripple the movement caused for just a moment. Her smile widened.

Instead of chastising her—for the Crawley matter was certainly still a sore subject—Carlisle narrowed his eyes and said, his voice rough with disdain, "You lack class."

"Says the newspaper sensationalist," Vera retorted without missing a beat. "Tell me, Sir, do you still go hunting in the wrong weather tweed?"

His jaw actually _dropped_ and it was all Vera could do to keep from tittering with amusement, though merriment certainly shone in her eyes.

"You're not the only one who barters in information, Sir Richard." Her smile was sweet now, syrupy.

"So what?"

Yet he had not kicked her out of his office, had he now?

She took off her gloves and shed her moth-eaten fox stole, then sat down across from him uninvited.

"You're a businessman, Sir Richard," Vera said. "And I'm a businesswoman—or at least, I'd like to be. Perhaps I'm rough round the edges, but a woman has to start somewhere, hasn't she?"

"I could hire any one of the women in that hallway, or one of the ones I've already interviewed," he said, "and none of them would be a pain in my arse the way you're likely to be."

"Yes, and they would do their duties diligently, going along their dull-headed ways every night at five'o'clock," Vera said dismissively, "but what would any of them actually _bring to the table_?"

"They're secretaries. They're not supposed to _bring_ anything unless I specifically ask," Carlisle said. "They're trained in typing, in etiquette."

"I admit my etiquette could use work, but I've taken a typing course," Vera said, "I've the paper to prove it. And as I said: I work _hard_. I'll work whatever hours, whenever you need. And I won't complain about the work neither. You'll get the most for what you pay, I can guarantee that."

"Of course there is your penchant for spilling everything you know for money," Carlisle said archly.

"And I am told you're fond of contracts." Vera had an answer for everything. "So have your fancy lawyer draw one up and I'll sign it. I'm proud, Sir Richard, but I'm done with foolishness, else why would I be here?"

"I don't know," he admitted, appearing to think it over.

Her obvious hungriness had to be appealing, Vera thought. She'd read newspaper articles—in Sir Richard's own papers, no less—that said thinking men, business men, always liked workers who were hungry to learn. It was different from sheer desperation—that's what she told herself.

"You won't regret it," she told him.

After a very long moment, Sir Richard's gaze focused on his steepled fingers, he finally said, "I'll afford you a one-week trial basis, to start after you've signed a nondisclosure agreement." Not giving her a chance to react properly, he stood, holding out his hand as if to seal the deal.

She held out her hand and he grabbed it, holding it firmly for longer than was necessary.

Vera still had not said anything in reply, when Sir Richard leaned down to say, "And if I do come to regret it, I'll make sure you do as well."


End file.
